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Your fame having reached us here, I set down with pleasure to write to a man who I am certain will have an equal pleasure in satisfying the doubts that now occupy my mind. I would proceed and state every difficulty I find in the treatment and guidance of a horse, to which animal I confess I am rather an alien, although I have happily attained (yesterday it was) my thirty-fifth year. I was bred to a business that debarred me from an amusement for which I seem formed by nature, being, Sir, very short in the fork, and what our wits call duck legged, and all my weight lying atop: and it was not till I emerged, as I may say, from the counting house, that I could make